Superball
by Spense
Summary: TV Verse. International Rescue has a reputation for pulling off the type of rescues that nobody else could accomplish. While on the scene, they are professional, competent, and impressive. But what happens afterwards? ONESHOT.


SUPERBALL

By Spense

NOTE: This is in TV-Verse. (I suppose it could be read as Movie-verse, but that wasn't what was in my mind when I wrote it.) And Boomercat gets credit for the reference to 'Mulan'.

SUMMARY: International Resuce has an incredible reputation for pulling off the type of rescues that nobody else could accomplish. While on the scene, they are professional, competent, and impressive. But what happens afterwards? ONE-SHOT.

"I am not riding home with Alan," Virgil Tracy hissed angrily.

"But it's your turn," Scott Tracy, Virgil's older brother, and International Rescue's field commander, answered reasonably.

The two brothers were covered with soot and grime from the giant warehouse fire they'd been working. It was two am in the morning and they were all glad it was finished. It had been such a harrowing rescue, that in addition to Scott and Thunderbird One, and Virgil with Thunderbird Two, their younger brothers Gordon and Alan had come along. In addition, their father, IR commander Jeff Tracy had come along as well, running mobile control so Scott could work in the rescue operation itself. They had needed all hands.

Now it was finally over. They were all exhausted and ready to go home. But both of the older Tracy brothers had learned from hard experience that Gordon and Alan together after a tough rescue didn't deflate - they tended to feed off of each other and actually gain energy. And even now, as adults, they were referred to often enough with the nickname they had earned in childhood – the terrible two.

Although Gordon, the older of the two by thirteen months, was usually the driving force, it was Alan in particular that never seemed to wind down after a rescue. He went at full tilt until he hit his pillow, then was out cold for the duration.

The two oldest brothers, and the pilots of the two Thunderbird craft used mostly in the ground missions, had learned that it was much better to separate their two younger brothers for the trip home. Hence the quiet, stealthy argument in an out of the way corner, while the brothers in question shut down the accident scene.

"No!" Virgil stressed again. "I got him the last time. You should have seen what the pod looked like after Alan finished 'cleaning up'."

Scott didn't even try to hide his amusement. Yeah, actually, he had seen it, and the result would not have appealed to the ultra-organized Virgil. "Okay then, since you won't be reasonable – we settle this the adult way."

Virgil's eyes narrowed as Scott counted to three, then groaned. Scott's scissors cut his paper. He just never won at rock-paper-scissors.

"Okay, okay," he said in unconcealed disgust, as he turned away to his Thunderbird.

"Come on, Alan. Let's go!" He shouted as he stomped off in irritation, feeling Scott's smirk behind him.

TB TB TB TB TB 

Virgil couldn't believe it. Contrary to all past experience, Alan had settled into his seat, mentioned that he was absolutely bushed, and immediately went to sleep. Virgil flew home in peace and quiet, thanking his lucky stars that once again, as was his want, his youngest brother had defied all normal convention.

TB TB TB TB TB 

Scott was beginning to wonder if he got the better end of the deal as he prepared to take off. I mean, granted, he'd pulled the wool over Virgil's eyes – it really had been Scott's turn to take Alan. But Virgil trusted Scott implicitly, and the only time he ever doubted his memory was if his older brother insisted on something. Scott did tend to capitalize on this trait every once and awhile. He pushed the guilt out of his mind. He didn't do it often – only when the ride home with Alan was concerned. Virgil had a much more vast store of patience thanhe did. The ride may be shorter on Thunderbird One, but the consequences of a lost temper were proportionately higher, and they needed to be a team, Scott justified to himself.

But now . . . he really was wondering if this had been such a hot idea. Gordon had been moving since they all had boarded Thunderbird One. Jeff had elected to ride in the faster craft. Scott had a feeling that the decision had a great deal to do with his father's exhaustion coupled with the presence of the youngest Tracy in the other 'bird, although Jeff would never admit to it if asked. The IR founder had settled back against the jump seat at the foot of the command chair, eyes closed, looking as tired as they all felt.

Gordon had the same exhaustion lines around his sooty face, but was fidgety. Scott heaved an internal sigh. Hopefully, just like a little kid, the movement of TB One would knock him out. For now, he decided that if he ignored him, maybe he'd just go away.

Scott instructed Gordon to sit down and strap in, and then lost himself in his pre-flight checks. The automatic motions felt good. They were familiar and soothing. In no time, he had the craft ready to go, and had moved into the take-off.

He had just lifted off when something whizzed passed his head. Ducking instinctively, he heard a 'ping' from the inner hull of the cockpit, then flinched as a small objected rocketed past his shoulder.

"What the . . . ?"

Thunderbird One lurched as Scott's hand bumped the sensitive controls as he craned his head to follow whatever 'IT' was. Ducking to one side as the object returned, which he now recognized as a neon green superball as the blur shot past him again, he overcompensated on the controls, causing the highly maneuverable craft to lurch in her path like a drunken sailor.

"Scott!" Jeff Tracy's eyes snapped open, and he glared up towards his oldest son. "What in heaven's name . . ." He broke off, grabbing at his jump seat as Thunderbird One lurched again, and began to stall out as the pinging, flying object continued, actually picking up speed.

Scott swore out loud as he tried to correct the stall, lurching the rocket like a novice driver trying to learn how to control an automobile's manual transmission. He could practically hear the gears grinding.

"OW!" He yelped, as the speeding ball bounced off the back of his head, causing his hand to slip. The craft rolled onto her left side and shot forward, shearing off the top of a tree in its wake.

On the ground below, the firefighters watched the awkward path of the craft as it left the site, never really true to it's path.

"And I thought these guys were supposed to be crack pilots . . ." One commented.

"Go figure," the other responded, shaking his head.

Unfortunately for Scott, superballs were now engineered so that they actually gained energy, rather than losing it. Thunderbird One's pilot had his hands full as the speed of the bright green bullet increased. The cockpit was filled with colorful language from all three occupants as they ducked the flying object, and lurched around from Thunderbird One's antics.

Taking a moment to glare pointedly at Gordon,Scott's irritation level soared through the stratosphere as Gordon looked back at him innocently and pointed at their father. Scott was put in mind of an old, animated vid he'd once watched, with a dragon blaming a cricket for a fire. Jeff, trying to track the neon missile loose in the cockpit, missed the gesture entirely. Scott narrowed his eyes in dire warning of things to come at his younger brother. Seeing Gordon slink down in his seat, Scott was satisfied that his point was taken, and turned his mind back to more pressing matters.

"Scott, get this ship down NOW!" His father commanded.

"F-A-B," Scott growled grimly, followed quickly by another lurch as the missile grazed his forehead. An expletive deleted from the vicinity of his father was better ignored.

Scott spotted an open field and dropped Thunderbird One unceremoniously to the ground. The jarring landing pounded everybody, and Scott cut the engines quickly. And in the quiet, the incessant 'pinging' continued loud and clear.

"Now, get that thing," Jeff growled.

A few minutes of melee' better left un-described followed in a tangle of Tracys, Thunderbird One's architecture, and one neon green superball.

"Got it!" A triumphant Gordon announced, emerging from his pile drive into the command seat somewhat disheveled.

"Give it to me," Scott demanded sharply, holding out his hand.

Gordon looked mutinous, closing his hand around the small ball possessively.

"I'll take it," the firm voice of their father said sternly, as he held a handkerchief to a bloody scrape on his temple.

Giving a silent gulp, Gordon handed it over.

"Don't," Jeff said warningly as Scott began to open his mouth. "Let's just get home in one piece."

Silently, both Tracy sons took their seats, followed by Jeff, and Thunderbird One headed home amidst echoing silence.

TB TB TB TB TB 

Virgil and Alan made their way towards the main conduit out of Thunderbird Two's hanger yawning loudly. They had just finished the flight checksand were ready to hit the sack. Suddenly, a deep vibration rumbled silently through the floor, telling them that Thunderbird One was coming in. Looking at each other in surprise, they headed for the silo's entrance.

"They should have been back long before us," Virgil commented. "I wonder what happened?"

Alan had no answers and so could only shrug, and they moved quickly towards the bay.

Just as they reached the silo, the door burst open and Jeff Tracy, face clouded and glowering, marched through and turned towards the house, not even noticing them. Seeing the look on his face, neither brother called attention to themselves. They looked at each other, puzzled.

Gordon followed more cautiously out the door about thirty seconds later, looking carefully to make sure their father had gone. On seeing his expression, Alan started to grin.

"Hey! Gordo!" He called softly.

Gordon turned towards him, and gave him a knowing smirk, causing Alan to laugh out loud and hurry over to his side.

Watching this byplay and shaking his head, Virgil headed into Thunderbird One's hanger bay. He found Scott exactly where he expected him to be – doing his final flight checks and refueling. However Virgil was more than a little surprised at the state of the cockpit. Anything that wasn't nailed down was loose, and Scott looked more than a little disheveled.

Before Virgil could even open his mouth, Scott broke in tiredly. "Next time, I'll take Alan."

Virgil burst into laughter, that comment telling him everything he needed to know.

_finis_


End file.
